


Lullaby

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames are about to have a child together, and a lot of decisions are crowding in. Arthur/Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**

Arthur had spent all morning cleaning the house because he was antsy and didn’t know what to do with himself. No one had informed him that he would feel quite this bored when pregnant. He and Eames had already prepared a new room in the house for their child, painting it in neutral colours. They had already gotten a few sets of clothing until they knew the baby’s sex – they wanted it to be a surprise. They had already attended those classes on how to prepare for pregnancy and the birth even though Arthur was pretty sure he had already done better research than any of the instructors.

 

He and Eames had gone out for walks in the past, seeing a lot of movies out and museums and the like. But the weight of their child added to Arthur’s front was beginning to weigh on him and Arthur grew weary much quicker these days. Eames told him that it was normal and not to worry, but it frustrated Arthur to no end. He wasn’t used to sitting still and doing nothing, and wasn’t interested in starting. But he found himself couch ridden more afternoons than not, curled up with an endless supply of books and, when he was feeling particularly tired, the television set.

 

Arthur cleaned the house from top to bottom, but it could only be cleaned so many times before he was just going through the mechanical motions. In the afternoon Arthur gave up and retired to the couch, feeling like a whale as he carefully flopped down onto the cushions. He kept one hand on his protruding stomach protectively as he shuffled into his preferred position, legs sprawled across the rest of the empty couch.

 

For a moment he just sat there, petting the warm skin of his stomach, and smiled when he felt the baby kick against his hand. Arthur had found it difficult to adjust when he first found out he was pregnant nearly eight months ago now. As soon as he had found out he had sat Eames down and they had agreed to stop dream working; it was just too dangerous. They had enough money to comfortably settle down without having to worry about work and Eames stayed at home with him most of the time. But they quickly found out they needed some time on their own to avoid getting too annoyed with the other.

 

Eames would go out and run errands, and although Ariadne, Dom and Yusuf would visit frequently, there were still times Arthur was left alone. When it had been early in the pregnancy he had hated it, the way the house seemed to ring with silence and a lack of company. But now, seven months later with his stomach looking almost too big to be real, Arthur never really felt alone. He felt the baby kick one more time before settling and Arthur smiled affectionately at his stomach.

 

He sat back against the pillows and armrest, wondering idly if there would be a permanent dent in the couch when he was finished with this pregnancy. Arthur swept his gaze around the room, trying to decide what he felt like doing, and found his attention drawn to the photographs littering the mantle and walls. Eames was more sentimental than Arthur was – and Arthur particularly had issues adjusting to the fact that he had photos he wished to display – but he had to admit that they were nice to see as he waddled around the house.

 

The photos spanned over the last six years, since he and Eames first got together. There was a photo of Arthur and Eames asleep on the couch, cuddling unknowingly after they had both passed out near the end of Ariadne’s university graduation celebration. There was a photo from Dom’s Christmas party at his house when Arthur and Eames had ended up kissing under the mistletoe. There were photos from their first few dates, quality a little less pristine since they had used Eames’s phone’s camera. There was a picture of Eames proposing, on one knee and everything, with everyone in the background looking much more in-the-know than Arthur. There were a few photos of their wedding, and the honeymoon, and of lazy days in the backyard when they had moved into this house together.

 

There was even one photo that seemed quite random and insignificant unless you knew the story. Both he and Eames were looking rather rumpled, both of them still in their sleeping clothes and neither of their hair having seen a comb. Arthur’s face looked pale and a little clammy, and he remembered that he had thrown up that morning. But Eames’s arm was around him, holding him close, and they were both grinning like mad. It was the morning Arthur found out he was pregnant. 

 

Arthur’s attention flickered to the door when he heard keys in the lock and felt his body momentarily tense, wondering where his gun was, before Eames walked in. Arthur relaxed back against the cushions and watched as Eames stumbled into the house and tried to kick the front door shut. Arthur began pulling himself into a standing position to help with the groceries weighing the other man down, but Eames shook his head and grunted past his wallet – which was currently being held by his teeth. Knowing what that meant, Arthur watched and felt useless as Eames got the door closed and disappeared into the kitchen.

 

He listened to the sounds of bags rustling and the refrigerator’s fan kicked into gear as the door stayed open for a few minutes. Then he stared at the ceiling, suddenly desperate for any sort of project to do. Luckily Eames reappeared a few minutes later, circling around the couch, lifting Arthur’s legs carefully, and sitting down with them in his lap. “Afternoon, darling,” Eames gave him a smile as he began to massage Arthur’s ankles. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the assumption that he needed taking care of, but decided it felt too nice to bother arguing. “Is there anything I can get you?”

 

Arthur hummed contently and slid a little further down against the cushions, quite happy the way he was. “No, I’m fine.”

 

“Did you have a good morning?”

 

Arthur hummed again, allowing his eyes to slip closed. “I cleaned.”

 

“Again?” Eames chuckled, “You cleaned two days ago.”

 

“I’m bored,” Arthur lamented, both at that fact and the truth that his body felt too tired to do much even if he could think of something to do.

 

“Anything I can do to help with that?” his partner teased, moving his talented fingers to Arthur’s other ankle. “What do you feel like doing?”

 

Arthur opened one of his eyes just wide enough to watch Eames’s reaction. “A good fuck would be nice.”

 

He noticed those blue eyes growing a little dark at the suggestion, and he also noticed Eames’s smile turn into a cringe for just a moment. “You know there’s nothing else I’d rather do,” Eames’s smile turned genuine again once he had finished his internal struggle, “But you’re the one who informed me that we’re not allowed to have sex this close to the birth.”

 

“But if we do it slow, and we’re careful…” Arthur didn’t like to think that he whined often, but his voice was probably growing dangerously close to that tone.

 

“Nice try, love,” Eames smirked, “But that was my argument last week.” Arthur sighed in exasperation and glanced away, knowing his body was too exhausted for something as rigorous as sex with Eames right now anyway. It had been two weeks which, in the grand scheme of things, really wasn’t long. But he could sense the way their bodies thrummed when they got this close, impatient and eager.

 

He watched as Eames shuffled a little closer and leaned down to rub a warm hand over Arthur’s stomach. Eames pushed his sweater up past the large bulge and continued to pet the taut skin there, causing Arthur to shiver. Then Eames leaned down and pressed soft lips to Arthur’s stomach, kissing their unborn child. “You kiss my stomach more than my lips these days, did you know?” Arthur grumbled, a little agitated.

 

Eames glanced up at him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realize.” Eames gripped the back of the couch for support as he leaned across the length of the couch. Arthur felt his skin tingle when Eames’s free hand cupped his cheek and tilted his head forward slightly a moment before their lips met. It was slow and soft and chaste, none of their buried passion allowed to emerge right now, but it was what Arthur needed. It still spoke of a love that hadn’t faded despite the fading novelty of their relationship and currently-nonexistent physical relationship.

 

When Eames pulled away, Arthur gave a tiny smile. Eames returned it and dipped back down to drop another kiss to his stomach; this time Arthur didn’t mind. “I just can hardly believe that there is a physical being in your beautiful body, made of our combined love,” Eames whispered, sounding slightly awed as he stroked Arthur’s skin with a thumb.

 

Arthur watched affectionately as Eames pressed an ear to his stomach, listening intently. “Should I be jealous?” he teased, although they both knew he was joking. Arthur understood Eames’s words, probably more than his husband since their child was actually in _his_ body. Arthur woke up with another heartbeat inside of him, beating strongly, proof of their love.

 

“Never,” Eames smiled at him adoringly. They remained like that for a few minutes, lazily enjoying the quiet and company. Eventually Arthur’s stomach grumbled though and he realized he had forgotten to eat lunch. Eames pulled away with a laugh and carefully manoeuvred around Arthur’s legs to stand up from the couch. “What did you have to eat today?”

 

“Uh…” Arthur trailed off, purposefully glancing away.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t have sushi for breakfast again,” Eames said regretfully, though his tone was teasing. Arthur didn’t respond. “That’s just gross, darling.”

 

“Fuck you, I didn’t ask for these cravings,” Arthur muttered under his breath.

 

To his surprise, Eames swooped down for another soft press of lips. When they pulled apart, he was much less annoyed with his husband. “Is there anything I can get you that isn’t sushi?” Eames asked seriously.

 

Arthur thought about it for a minute and then nodded. “Pasta might be good.”

 

“Then pasta it is,” Eames announced as he headed back towards the kitchen to prepare an early dinner. “What do you want in it?” he yelled across the house right before Arthur heard a pile of pots clatter about.

 

He sighed and slowly pulled himself off the couch, holding his stomach gently again. It took him a moment to regain his sense of balance before he was able to wander into the kitchen behind his partner. “No chicken,” he stated as soon as he saw Eames pulling out two chicken breasts to defrost.

 

“But you love chicken,” Eames glanced back at him over his shoulder, chicken package in hand.

 

“The thought makes me sick today,” Arthur explained. He thought for a moment, “I want bacon today.”

 

“The last time you had bacon you threw up on the bathroom mat,” Eames reminded him even as he set the chicken back into the freezer.

 

“Look, I don’t understand my body anymore,” Arthur sighed as he reached past Eames to pull some vegetables out of the fridge. “I just do what it tells me to and hope it doesn’t get upset with me.”

 

“Alright, we’ll try bacon again,” Eames rolled his eyes as he pulled some bacon from the fridge – they still had some since Eames ate it with breakfast. “But you should go sit back down. I can handle dinner,” his partner suggested a little worriedly as Arthur rinsed the vegetables in the skin and walked slowly to the counter with the cutting board.

 

“I need to do _something_ , Eames,” Arthur reminded the man, a hint of desperation in his voice. Silently he also reminded himself that Eames always screwed up the vegetables, but he didn’t say this aloud.

 

“I get that, but at least sit at the kitchen table while you peel and cut everything,” Eames suggested as he put the water on to boil and grabbed a frying pan for the bacon. Arthur thought of staying at the counter just to prove he could, but his stomach got in the way and his back ached from leaning over to reach the cutting board properly, so he slunk away to the kitchen table. They prepared dinner in silence for a few minutes and then Eames appeared in front of him, a fork offered to him with a small piece of bacon speared on the end. “Give it a try.”

 

Arthur took the offered fork into his mouth and chewed on the piece of bacon. Unfortunately, before he had even finished swallowing he was grimacing. He knew Eames saw the disgusted look and felt bad for making his partner do extra work. “Sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling tired.

 

Eames kissed the top of his head in a way that should be condescending but just made Arthur hum happily. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just divvy up the pasta and put the bacon in my half. How are the vegetables coming along?”

 

“Done,” Arthur proclaimed as he handed over the cutting board full of prepared vegetables. He watched Eames return to the stovetop to fry up the vegetables, watching his partner’s back affectionately. Both dream workers had made their fair share of mistakes, and had experienced more than a few arguments over the years. But there was just something about Eames that always made Arthur determined to find a solution, to make amends, rather than just keep arguing until his partner felt as hurt as he sometimes did. Eames seemed to be the same way. Despite both being ridiculously stubborn, they were too stubborn about making the relationship work for it to crumble.

 

“I ran into Ariadne today,” Eames mentioned conversationally as he continued to slaving over the stove.

 

“Oh?” Arthur said just to prove that he was listening even though his eyes had drifted shut tiredly.

 

“She was wondering if you might be up for a visit if she, Dom and the kids came by on Saturday.” The timer went off and Eames grabbed the strainer to dump the pasta into. “I told her we didn’t have plans but that it depended on how you were feeling.”

 

“You say that like I’m sick,” he sighed, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly.

 

“No I don’t,” Eames argued back. “You just get tired, Arthur. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“Sometimes I miss the days you weren’t allowed to know I had weaknesses,” Arthur complained quietly.

 

“Those days nearly got us killed,” Eames reminded him while busy dishing the pasta onto two plates and mixing in the bacon and vegetables.

 

“I know,” Arthur nodded in agreement. “We were so distracted by each other we nearly ended up dead on a job. Or dropped into Limbo, depending on Yusuf’s chemicals.” He gave Eames a thankful smile when a plate of hot pasta was set in front of him, though he waited to eat while Eames went to grab them some glasses of water. “We couldn’t stop thinking about each other but were too stubborn to show the other any weakness, and then it all went to shit.”

 

“But we made it out alive,” his husband kissed him solidly on the mouth before sitting down at the table across from Arthur, setting down the sweating glasses of water on coasters. “And it helped us realize our feelings,” Eames added with a small, pleased smile.

 

“Yeah…” Arthur touched a finger to his lips, still smiling with the phantom pressure of Eames’s lips. “And I can’t say I regret that.”

 

“Not even if I know all your weaknesses and deepest, darkest secrets?” Eames teased, though Arthur caught the underlying seriousness in his voice.

 

“If anyone was going to know them, I’m glad it was you,” he confessed honestly.

 

“Likewise, love.”

 

#

 

Arthur hated night time. He felt weary and exhausted all day, but when the sun finally set and he crawled into bed at night, he always found it nearly impossible to fall asleep. He could never sleep on his stomach, fearful of crushing their child under his weight. He slept on his side a lot since Eames liked to spoon him from behind, but he usually woke up with a backache the next morning if he slept the whole night like that. Unfortunately, his final available position on his back made him feel stiff.

 

He was on his back now, Eames snoring quietly into the pillows beside him. Arthur blinked up at the dark ceiling tiredly, wishing desperately for sleep. But it didn’t come. The longer he went staring at the ceiling, the clock slowly ticking by as time wore on, the more frustrated and exhausted he became. It was around one in the morning when he felt a sense of hopelessness bubble up inside him.

 

His eyes stung with unshed tears eager to find their freedom and he clenched his eyes closed, fighting down the urge to cry, the lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow. He hated this feeling and, feeling unable to struggle through it alone, he nudged Eames’s arm. “Eames?” The man didn’t move, didn’t even twitch. “Eames!” God, the man could sleep through anything. “ _Eames_!” He whispered again harshly just as his voice broke in the back of his throat.

 

Eames gave a little grunt as he jolted out of sleep, his head rising to look around critically. “What’s’a matter?” he slurred through sleep-muddled thoughts, eyes eventually focusing on Arthur with concern. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

 

Arthur was going to tell the man not to worry, to go back to sleep. But instead when he opened his mouth a pathetic little sob escaped his lips, which was the cue for his tears to spill down his cheeks. Eames tried to calm him with soft spoken words, but in that moment it just made Arthur cry harder. Arthur curled up in his partner’s arms when Eames pulled him close and began petting his hair and just let himself cry. “It’s just these stupid fucking hormones…” he cursed quietly to ensure Eames didn’t think something was devastatingly wrong. “And I can’t sleep.”

 

“Just let yourself cry, darling,” Eames kissed his temple soothingly, voice like a caress as it wound around Arthur like a secure blanket. “Don’t hold it in.”

 

“It’s stupid,” Arthur muttered unintelligibly even as he pressed his face against Eames’s sleep shirt, ruining it with salty tears. “And you should go back to sleep; it’s late. I shouldn’t have woken you.” His guilt made him cry harder, even though he knew he’d be feeling worse if he had slipped away to the bathroom to cry alone and let his partner catch up on some much needed sleep.

 

“Nonsense, love,” Eames was peppering kisses along Arthur’s skin, mindless of the salty wetness his lips were pressed against. “We’re in this together.”

 

Arthur cried for another few minutes in Eames’s embrace, feeling slightly less ridiculous at his partner’s assurances. When his body finally calmed down he swiped at his tearstained face with the heel of his palm, feeling truly exhausted now. “Thanks,” he eventually whispered as Eames rearranged them to hold Arthur close to his warm body even as they lay back against the mattress.

 

“Any time, you know that,” Eames kissed his jaw and held him a little closer. They lay in silence for a few minutes and Arthur thought the other man might have fallen back to sleep, but then he heard Eames clear his throat nervously. “Is there anything else that was bothering you, love?” Arthur tensed up and didn’t speak, but of course Eames noticed. “You can tell me anything,” he reminded Arthur softly.

 

Arthur took a deep breath, steeling his courage. “Do you think we’re making the right choice?” he breathed into the air, fearful of Eames’s reaction. His husband didn’t respond for a minute and Arthur’s stomach dropped nervously. “I feel absolutely awful for having second thoughts,” his eyes were stinging again, stupid hormones, “But I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I’m a Point Man. I don’t know anything about raising kids.”

 

“Arthur, you’ve done so much research you probably know more than most people who wrote books on raising children,” Eames chuckled lightly, but when Arthur began to cry again, Eames cleared his throat and grew serious. “Look, darling,” Arthur felt Eames’s nose nuzzle his jaw gently. “Every time someone’s life is about to change dramatically they usually sit down and wonder ‘what the hell was I thinking?’ This is a huge change for us and there’s nothing wrong with being nervous.”

 

“You certainly seem confident enough about the whole thing,” Arthur groused without much bite to his words.

 

“Don’t even work yourself into that line of thinking, Arthur,” Eames chided him. “You’re the one who calmed me down after my panic attack that I’d be a terrible father last week.”

 

“Because you’re going to be a wonderful father,” he argued as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

 

“And so will you!” Eames pressed back, tracing his fingers down Arthur’s body until their fingers laced together over Arthur’s large stomach.

 

Arthur took a deep breath, considering the words, and then nodded. “You’re right. It’s not going to be easy but we’ll figure it out together.”

 

Eames beamed. “Exactly.”

 

Their shared a brief, tired kiss as their combined hands cradled their unborn child close. But when Arthur pulled away another thought was plaguing him. He bit his lip. “But…” he began, worried Eames would get annoyed with him for still having issues. But Eames just watched him expectantly, waiting to sweep away more unfounded fears. “But were we right to give up dream work?”

“Arthur…” Eames whispered calmly, “Tell me your argument for giving up dream work that you told me all those months ago when we found out you were pregnant.”

 

Arthur swallowed. “I said that if I had to choose a life between you and our child or dream work, I’d always choose you because you gave my life meaning.” He blushed at how sappy he sounded but continued on when Eames didn’t interrupt. “I said I couldn’t bear the thought of coming home and having to explain to our child why their second father wasn’t coming home after a job gone bad. Or worse, neither of us coming home.”

 

“And do you still feel that way?” Eames asked seriously.

 

“Of course!” Arthur rushed to confirm, a few more tears falling away when he blinked, his lashes pushing them away. “Wait…” he narrowed his eyes at his lover, “You just made me use my own argument against myself.”

 

“You always were better at developing an argument than me,” Eames shrugged. He was smiling but it was clear that he was still taking the conversation very seriously. “But I agreed with your argument then, and I agree with it now because I feel the same way. I completely understand that you’re feeling antsy now because you can’t do much. But don’t forget that we can always look into legal dream work after we muddle our way through the challenge of raising an infant.”

 

“Eames…?”

 

“Yeah, love?”

 

Arthur stared at his partner for a long moment, lost in those dark, captivating eyes. He wondered curiously, not for the first time, whose eyes their child would have. Whose hair? Whose smile? Whose laugh? Without needing to say a word, Arthur leaned forward and sealed their lips together lovingly. Despite everything they had grown accustomed to in their relationship, many things falling into a regular routine, they never grew bored of the way their lips slotted together.

 

“Would you like me to sing for you?” Eames offered shyly when they eventually pulled away.

 

Eames wasn’t much of a singer, and neither was Arthur. But shortly after they had first become a couple, one time after a particularly distressing job, Eames had held Arthur close under the sheets of their hotel room and started humming a lullaby. Arthur wanted to ask about it but had found himself asleep before he could formulate the words. The next day Eames explained that his grandmother had always hummed him the song when he had a bad dream, and had given him a small music box that played the same song before she passed on. From then on Eames would hum the lullaby to Arthur whenever he was distressed or upset, and the hummed notes worked like magic.

 

“Yes please,” Arthur requested with a yawn and tired smile, curling up closer to Eames in preparation to fall asleep.

 

He was only conscious for the first few hummed notes of the song, but the lullaby followed him comfortingly into his dreams.

 

#

 

“Eames?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can you come to the living room?”

 

“In a minute.”

 

“No, _now_!”

 

#

 

“We’re going to have to get rid of that couch. It’s ruined,” Arthur sighed as Eames helped him get settled in the passenger seat of their car.

 

“Stop worrying about the fucking couch and breathe,” Eames grumbled before rushing around to the driver’s side of the car and starting the ignition.

 

“I can’t believe my water broke on it. I wonder if everyone has to get rid of the furniture they’re sitting on when their water breaks…” Arthur’s thoughts trailed away into a tiny gasp as another quick spasm of cramps shot through his body. “Would you dry clean it?”

 

“Nobody cares about the couch, Arthur,” Eames informed him brusquely as he pulled away from the curb and sped towards the highway, his hands trembling on the steering wheel. “We can buy thousands more with our money if it would please you. Now _breathe_.”

 

#

 

Eames held Arthur’s hand throughout the entire process from the moment they rushed into the hospital. It was a long labour and although Arthur had insisted that he could handle the pain, he eventually had to request an epidermal. “Just because I’ve been shot in seven different locations on my body doesn’t mean I can handle this,” was Arthur’s reasoning to Eames, both of them ignoring the startled looks on the doctor’s and nurses’ faces.

 

Arthur wondered how angry Eames would be if he just gave up and died partway through, feeling almost unable to comprehend surviving the pain he was in. But then, as though he could read Arthur’s thoughts, Eames was kissing his hand insistently. “You need to stay with me Arthur. I can’t continue on without you. You’re almost there, just a little more. Push for me love, that’s it. I’m right here.” His voice was a constant wave of comfort for Arthur as he pushed at the nurse’s insistence, silently demanding that his body survive this so that he didn’t let Eames down.

 

It felt like forever later when a nurse yelled “Push!” and Arthur only remembered not to swear at her because Eames squeezed his hand tightly and whispered “Push” but as a request, not a demand. Arthur closed his eyes and pushed and then he felt a wave of relief and emptiness wash through him as the baby finally came out. His head fell back against the pillow with a sob, his whole body exhausted, and Eames was there holding him close, keeping him warm, reminding him of their love that had led up to this moment.

 

He couldn’t even move as the nurses cleaned him up. Eames was petting his hair and whispering soothing words, telling him what was happening so Arthur wouldn’t need to keep his eyes open a moment longer. A few minutes later he felt Eames’s hands withdraw, but before he could even make a noise of protest, Eames was back by his bedside whispering, “Would you like to meet our daughter?”

 

Arthur blinked his eyes open, his lashes stiff with dried tears. For a moment he just took in the image of Eames holding their child, cradling her close in his arms with his adoring look switching between the baby and Arthur. And then he held his arms out welcomingly and Eames carefully passed over their child, their bond, their love. He cried again when the baby girl was in his arms but he hardly noticed, holding her close while Eames pressed a delicate kiss to his lips. “She’s beautiful,” Arthur whispered in awe, almost unable to believe that he and Eames had created this wonderful little being.

 

She was already half asleep in the warm embrace of her two fathers, but Arthur had still gotten a good look at her as she stared up at him curiously before falling asleep. She had Eames’s eyes and lips, which made him smile, and had Arthur’s dimples and hair, proven by a tiny tuft of straight black hair on the top of her head. Arthur wasn’t sure he had ever seen something so beautiful before in his life, knowing that she was connected to both him and Eames by blood and love. “She is, and so are you.”

 

At Eames’s voice, Arthur glanced up. Eames’s expression made his breath catch in the back of his throat. Eames was looking down at the pair of them with such love that Arthur could do nothing but smile, feeling as though his face was shining brighter than the sun. Arthur held the baby girl a little closer to his body with one arm, making sure her head was supported, and then extended his free hand to Eames. Their fingers twined together and Eames stepped closer to the bed. “Is the name we decided on still okay?” he asked softly.

 

“Sophia is a perfect name,” Eames agreed, leaning down to kiss Sophia’s tiny forehead before capturing Arthur’s lips with his own.

 

#

 

People always told you having a child was hard work, but you never really believed them – or understood – until you went through the experience yourself. Luckily Eames was able to take care of Sophia for the first two weeks while Arthur slept and recovered, and Ariadne slept over in their living room for the first week to take over when Eames needed to sleep as well. Dom stopped by to congratulate them and see Sophia but was unable to provide much help since he was busy taking care of James and Phillipa in Ariadne’s absence. Yusuf was out of town on a Chemist’s conference – which he insisted did exist - the first week Arthur and Eames returned home with the new addition to their family. But when he was finished he came over and helped cook meals for them.

 

Arthur had been worried about postpartum depression, having never been more attached to anything in his life – except for Eames – than that child. But even though he did feel quite empty and alone when things grew quiet occasionally, unaccustomed to being alone in his body and having Sophia as a separate entity, his depression was not bad. More than anything it encouraged him to recover quickly so that he could begin taking care of Sophia as well and become involved in their new family.

 

Once he had recovered Yusuf and Ariadne eventually headed back to their respective homes, promising to visit again soon. Arthur and Eames appreciated their help but were also relieved to have the house to themselves again, just the three of them. The novelty of having a new member of their family made them excited to do everything, even if some things proved to be a challenge. They were both still pretty exhausted each night, especially since they had to take turns taking care of Sophia when she cried in the middle of the night, but each day made them feel accomplished.

 

It was also nice to have some time together, just the two of them. Quite often they would find themselves deep in conversation while walking Sophia in the stroller in nearby parks. The conversations were surprisingly relieving, both of them still enjoying the others’ company and still realizing that there was always something new to learn about their partner. Once in a while they would manage a movie night after putting Sophia to sleep, curled up together on the couch and spending more time focused on the other’s body than the movie’s plot.

 

Quiet nights staying in became a special occasion, but it didn’t make them regret Sophia. Instead it just made them appreciate their time together and company more. Occasionally Eames or Arthur would make a fancy dinner to surprise the other, with lit candles and everything. And it didn’t matter if it was just their plain, slightly stained kitchen table, or that they’d sometimes have to pause mid conversation to see why Sophia was crying, because it was wonderful anyway.

 

Most nights they didn’t manage to find time for sex, and normally when there was time they were too tired anyway. But when they did finally make love for the first time after Sophia’s birth, they both came almost instantly, over-sensitized to the other’s touch. It just made them kiss for longer though, delighted that they still took such pleasure and enjoyment in each other’s bodies after the time apart. They pressed each other into the mattress and devoured the other’s slick mouth and then made love again, just because.

 

Even though Arthur had been fearful during his pregnancy that he would become too antsy and wish to continue dream working right away, he found that the passage of time was pleasing now. There were so many ‘firsts’ to look forward to as he and Eames welcomed Sophia into their family and did their best to share their knowledge of the world with her. The first smile, the first laugh, the first word – dada – the first step. Although Arthur missed dream working to some extent, he was in no rush to return. He didn’t want to miss a second of Sophia’s life.

 

#

 

Ariadne and Dom had just left, heading home after their weekend visit. James and Phillipa had adopted Sophia as their own long lost sister so they had spent the weekend playing together. The adults sipped drinks on the back porch and caught up on news, including the fact that Ariadne and Dom were expecting. Eames teased Ariadne constantly the whole weekend about how she was already beginning to show, and Dom had admitted a few of his fears to Arthur – “I don’t know if I can do this again. Is it wrong of me after Mal?” Arthur did his best to ease the man’s fears and the weekend turned out to be an enjoyable one.

 

Arthur was in the den cleaning up the small chest of toys Sophia, James and Phillipa had dug into during the weekend while Eames was busy getting Sophia changed for her afternoon nap. Arthur was absentminded in his cleaning as he thought back over the last weekend. He couldn’t believe that Sophia was already nearly two years old, though the new pictures on the wall showing her growth and development insisted that it was true. It was hard to believe that so much time had passed already, and how quickly it had snuck by. It had gone by in a flash.

 

His fingers brushed over a smooth plastic surface and he glanced down curiously. There, left lying forgotten on the carpet in front of him, was a small red die and a matching red poker chip. Arthur remained kneeling for a moment, staring down at the odd toys with one eyebrow raised, but was distracted when he heard footsteps approaching. “Sophia has been successfully put to bed, which gives us about an hour alone if you feel up to a shag.”

 

Normally Arthur would have chuckled at the man’s crass offer before pressing their lips together; they had both grown too impatient with time to be subtle about their desires when the time and energy was available. But today, now, he felt a little off kilter. Something about the smooth surface of the die against his fingertips had sent a shock of anxiety through his body, like he was forgetting something important. “Eames… Do you know whose toys these are?” He wondered if they were a child’s toy from day camp, knowing he would not give Sophia such a choking hazard himself.

 

He was going to hold the die and chip up for Eames to inspect, but he snatched his hand away as though burned when he touched the die again. Eames approached and knelt beside Arthur, scooping the chip up in his hand while leaving the die alone, though there didn’t seem to be a reason to do so. “I don’t know where they came from…” Eames admitted, holding the chip up to the sunlight to inspect it with a critical eye.

 

Arthur grabbed the die in his hand to look it over as well, but a gasp from Eames beside him startled him. He dropped the die and watched in mounting horror as it tumbled across the carpet, falling to a rest to display the number three. He glanced over at Eames to see the man running the pad of his thumb over the dips and ridges of the chip, looking as though he might cry. With shaky fingers Arthur reached for the die and threw it again. And again. And again.

 

Three.

 

Three.

 

Three.

 

Three.

 

Three.

 

“Eames…” Arthur sobbed, unaware of when he started crying.

 

He held the die tightly in one hand, crushing the die hard enough to leave indents in his skin. With his other hand he reached for Eames, who was also grasping for him with shaky limbs. Their hands met and they held on like they were dying, like they would be lost if they let go. “It…. It can’t be…” Eames whispered, throwing the poker chip to the ground.

 

“Are you real?” Arthur sobbed harder, dropping the die to the ground to cup a palm to Eames’s wet cheek. “Please tell me you’re real. _Please_.” The tears fell harder and faster, washing away everything but the pain in his heart and a dull, throbbing numbness.

 

“I-I’m real,” Eames wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, holding him close. “I remember everything that’s happened. Everything since… Since that job,” a flash of recognition passed through those eyes, “The one where we both got shot and were bleeding out…”

 

“But Dom got there before we died. He fought the projections off until the timer ran out and we woke up…” Arthur finished, proving that he too remembered how they got here, that he was real. That was what had happened, wasn’t it? Wasn’t this reality? He reached for his die again.

 

Three.

 

Three.

 

Three.

 

“Fuck,” Arthur felt his body collapse, supported only by Eames’s warm embrace. His forehead fell forward to rest against Eames’s shoulder and they were both crying hard.

 

“Maybe we created that reality to explain how we arrived here…” Eames suggested unsteadily. “We built Limbo into what we expected to see, rather than allowing ourselves to wash up on unknown shores.”

 

“Shut up, _shut up_!” Arthur grappled at Eames’s shoulders to hold him closer, worried he might be made of smoke, worried he might disappear before Arthur’s eyes. But they didn’t disappear. Neither did the house or the world outside their window. “This is real! See?” he focused hard on the house, trying to prove that he couldn’t change the architecture. But when he put his will behind it, desperate to know the truth, the windows grew larger and changed shape. “ _No_ ,” Arthur wailed, “This can’t be happening. This is real!”

 

Eames was shaking his head, his whole body shaken with tremors that echoed in Arthur’s body. “None of this is real,” Eames howled loudly, sounding forsaken.

 

“No, no, _Eames_ ,” Arthur leaned away just far enough to see his husband’s face, “This _is_ real,” he shook the other man’s shoulders until he had his attention. “The house and the world may not be real but _we_ are. Our _relationship_ is.”

 

Even though this was Limbo, Arthur and Eames had gotten stuck down here together, the two dream workers taking solace in their team mate. They didn’t know if Dom and the others were projections or not, but at least he and Eames were real. It had been real when they fell asleep on the couch, curled up together. It had been real when they shared their first kiss. It had been real the first time they had had sex, and the first time they made love. Their conversations were real. Their wedding was real. Their life together was real. Their love was real.

 

They met for a dizzying kiss, desperate for contact and reassurance. For just one moment it didn’t matter that they were both tearstained and kneeling together in the middle of a playroom that didn’t exist, in a house and world that didn’t exist. Because they were real, their bodies moulding together in a familiar, intimate way as their lips danced an old, practiced dance.

 

Suddenly loud crying could be heard upstairs and they broke apart, panting. Their eyes were wide as they met the other’s gaze and then glanced upward. “Sophia…”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ say it!” Arthur shouted, voice breaking. He remembered now that men couldn’t get pregnant no matter how much they loved their partners, and that they simply couldn’t give birth. But saying the words would make it too real. Sophia was proof of their bond, of their love, and Arthur couldn’t bear to lose her, lose that meaning. He loved her dearly as he loved Eames, only more because she was a part of both of them.

 

Their eyes met again, blue and brown that had learned to read the other colour like a book. He could visibly see Eames swallow thickly. “We have a choice to make Arthur. _Right_ now,” he added as the wailing grew louder, begging for attention. They were both crying anew, tears making their skin itch as they held each other’s bodies close and refused to let go. “We can acknowledge that this is Limbo and wake ourselves up, or…” the other man took a shuddering breath. “We can acknowledge it and continue on. I can go upstairs and sing Sophia our lullaby, and then we can bury our totems.”

 

They both stood up slowly, their bodies moving automatically at the sound of their daughter crying. They supported the other’s weight as they found their footing and balance, but when they were standing they didn’t move, didn’t let go. “This is my reality, Eames…” Arthur stated slowly. The thought of leaving this behind to return to a world he had forgotten seemed terrifying.

 

“Mine too.” Eames tucked a strand of hair behind Arthur’s ear, and they both shared a wobbly smile. “I love you.”

 

Arthur nodded and leaned into the touch. “I love you too.” They remained frozen like that for a moment, like a freeze frame depicting the moment they made their decision. And then Sophia began crying harder. “Is it alright if I join you? I think I need to hear the lullaby as well.”

 

“I was hoping you’d come,” Eames admitted softly, taking Arthur’s hand before leading him out of the den – leaving their totems behind – and heading upstairs.

 

When they entered Sophia’s room Arthur swept her up into his arms, holding her close to his chest. “Hello, my love,” he whispered softly as he rubbed her back, calming her down slowly. It felt just as calming to have her in his arms with Eames standing nearby as it was calming for her to have her two fathers close. She quieted down and Arthur assumed, after a quick assessment, that it had just been a bad dream. It seemed like they had all suffered through that just a moment ago.

 

Sophia gave a little burbling giggle and curled one of her tiny hands around Arthur’s thumb; she seemed calmer but nowhere near ready to sleep. So he allowed Eames to hoist Sophia into his own arms, knowing the other man would need to feel their daughter in his arms to calm down as well. He watched Eames pull their daughter close, though the man’s eyes remained fixed on Arthur. They stood like that for a few moments before moving to Arthur and Eames’s bedroom.

 

Eames settled Sophia down on the mattress between the two of them and began humming his lullaby softly. Sophia was cradled between their two bodies and yawned tiredly before snuggling down to sleep. But Arthur and Eames kept watching each other, their hands linked in the middle of the mattress below Sophia’s tiny feet. With that lullaby swirling around him, Sophia’s fluttering heartbeat against his chest, and Eames’s warm presence beside him, Arthur found that even though it was incredibly hard to forget that this wasn’t reality, it was incredibly easy to ignore.

 

#

 

When Arthur woke up things were undeniably, irrevocably _wrong_.

 

When he blinked his eyes open he was staring blurrily at a concrete ceiling, not the moulded plaster of his bedroom. Similarly, the chair he was lying on was not nearly as comfortable as the bed he had shared with Eames these last eight years. Eames’s warmth was missing and even though Arthur still felt the phantom weight of Sophia beside him, she was gone.

 

Suddenly arms were flying around him a moment before Ariadne’s loud voice exclaimed by his ear “Oh thank god it worked! We saved you!”

 

Saved?

 

Was this what being saved felt like?

 

Could they take it back?

 

Arthur didn’t want to be saved.

 

The voices around him were familiar and yet foreign, younger, inexperienced. They blurred around Arthur until he was only able to catch a few snippets of conversation, facts and questions being thrown at him lightning fast.

 

“You were in Limbo for five days. How long was it for you?”

 

“Yusuf  developed a shot of adrenaline to wake you up since you weren’t doing it on your own.”

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I’m so glad you’re back!”

 

“Were you and Eames together in the dream?”

 

That question caught enough of Arthur’s attention to force him to focus. His vision blurred and focused, blurred and focused like he had just gotten off an amusement park ride. He glanced around and shoved Ariadne away just in time before he threw up on her shoes, retching like he was trying to expel his hearth through his burning throat. When he finally stopped expelling his insides, Arthur looked around frantically.

 

Finally his eyes fell on Eames who was on another chair nearby, looking a similar state to Arthur with his own puddle of vomit by the chair’s metal frame. Their eyes met and Arthur saw his own dizzy confusion and consuming heartbreak reflected back in those eyes. Eames looked younger than Arthur was expecting at first, his hair a little darker and his eyes a little sharper. But those beautiful blue eyes softened the way Arthur was accustomed to seeing when they landed on Arthur, and suddenly Arthur was stumbling out of his chair and across the warehouse.

 

Even though he hated seeing his partner suffer, Arthur was grateful and relieved that he wasn’t alone. Eames had been down in Limbo with him, had shared and experienced everything with him. They had kissed, they had dated, they had made love, they had gotten married, they had argued, they had compromised, they had had a child. Everything together. A life together.

 

And now they had suffered loss together.

 

Arthur knew he must look different too. He _felt_ different. His body felt younger, stronger, and yet weaker for its lack of experiences Arthur had weathered down in Limbo. But despite the changes to his form, Eames still looked at him with love as he outstretched his arms. The warehouse and the other dream workers fell into the background as Arthur fell on top of Eames. He straddled Eames’s thighs, hooking his knees securely against Eames’s hips for stability. Then he wrapped his arms around Eames’s neck, fingers digging into strong back muscles, buried his face against Eames’s neck and sobbed.

 

“She’s gone,” he whispered against Eames’s skin, feeling five day old stubble from their time in Limbo. “Sophia’s gone, Eames.”

 

“I know,” Eames’s voice broke as he wrapped his own arms around Arthur’s body, crushing their chests together desperately. They needed contact, needed comfort. Needed some tangible proof that there was still something of their old life remaining. “I know.”

 

Arthur cried against Eames’s neck, tears wetting his skin and shirt. Eames cried into Arthur’s hair, making his scalp tickle uncomfortably. Their bodies shook together with the violence of their tears. Arthur’s eyes were sore, his nose plugged, his lips trembling as sobs wracked his body. His muscles were stiff, his throat burning with vomit, his heart pounding, his stomach churning with nausea. Eames’s hold on him was nearly painful but everything else hurt so much Arthur couldn’t find a reason to care, relishing in the contact.

 

It all came to a sudden, screeching halt when Arthur felt a hesitant hand come to rest on his shoulder. Arthur kept his body wound around Eames like a vine, holding onto his lifeline. He only pulled away enough to level his gaze on whoever dared intrude upon their moment of heartbreak. The others had no idea what they had gone through, what they had lost. Arthur didn’t care that they thought they were helping, he didn’t care what troubles they had gone through. All he cared about was Eames against him and the fading weight of Sophia in his arms.

 

Dom was there, looking worriedly at Arthur like he was a stranger making a scene. “Arthur...”

 

“Send us back!” Arthur snarled, glaring harshly at Dom for a moment before levelling his sharp gaze on Ariadne and Yusuf. Yusuf looked bewildered and Ariadne looked like she was about to cry. Dom, thankfully, looked like he might understand vaguely what was going on inside Arthur and Eames’s hearts, though he could never know this pain. “ _Send us back_!”

 

“We saved you...” Ariadne whispered, a few tears falling down her cheeks.

 

Arthur would have snapped if Eames didn’t begin rubbing soothing circles on his back through his shirt. Arthur wanted to know how Eames was handling things so well, but when the other man spoke, it was clear that Eames was a mere thread away from unravelling. “You tore us from our life. From our child.”

 

Everyone froze, eyes wide. The warehouse was suddenly very tense, very silent. “Your...?”

 

Arthur wasn’t sure who spoke, but the voice died away anyway. He didn’t care what anyone thought as he finally turned back around and buried his face in the crook of Eames’s shoulder. “Eames...” he lamented tiredly. The tears fell again, but slower this time; it was like his new state of being.

 

“I’m here, darling,” Eames promised, kissing his temple. And then, lips still against Arthur’s skin, Eames began humming their lullaby. It was an odd dichotomy when Arthur’s body relaxed at the sounds of the melody and the vibrations of Eames’s lips against his skin, and then tensed up when he remembered whose lullaby it was. It was Eames’s lullaby. It was their lullaby. It was Sophia’s lullaby.

 

“I want to go home,” Arthur confessed, allowing himself to be lulled by Eames’s touch and voice vibrating in his throat.

 

Eames continued humming until both of their bodies shuddered with exhaustion, their sorrow bleeding out of them momentarily. Once the lullaby was finally finished, the warehouse was still silent. Eames pulled away and although Arthur didn’t bother lifting his head, he knew his partner was looking at the other dream workers. “It’s been eight years for us. What hotel are we staying at?”

 

“Eight years...” the only female voice in the room echoed, and then Arthur heard a string of ‘ _Oh gods_ ’ and ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’s, not just from Ariadne but from everyone.

 

Eames nudged Arthur at the same time as he laced their fingers together, prompting Arthur to pull away enough so that they could both stand up on unsteady legs. Dom pressed a slip of paper into Arthur’s free hand, and when he glanced down he noticed that a hotel name and address was scrawled there. “I am so sorry,” Dom murmured sincerely before stepping away, giving them space.

 

Arthur knew he should say thank you, should at least acknowledge their efforts to get them back to reality. They thought they were helping, they thought they were being dependable friends and team members. But all he could do was nod at the seemingly never-ending rush of apologies and stay standing closer to Eames’s warm body. They made sure they still had everything in their pockets and then stumbled towards the warehouse exit with their hands held together between them.

 

Their bodies were stiff from lack of movement and they were only functioning with automatic movements as they flagged a taxi and gave the address for the hotel. But everything else seemed to be stiff as well, their thoughts and memories. Their wallets looked different and were filled with foreign currency and fake IDs. The keys for their house, a familiar weight in their pocket over the last six years since getting their house, were absent. They were both attuned to listen for Sophia’s cries and laughter and startled badly when the taxi passed a stroller with a crying child on the sidewalk.

 

Being thrown back into their younger bodies was jarring to say the least, and even though they had recreated Limbo to match reality, they felt like they had landed in a different world. Arthur and Eames fumbled through their wallets for the right cab fare and found their hotel keys at the same time, using the numbers on the cards to lead them. It was like scrabbling through a puzzle they were expected to know, but found out part way through that they had forgotten the rules, the setup.

 

Arthur felt numb when they realized they were booked into separate rooms, though they headed to Arthur’s room – the closer of the two – without a single word. He realized that their team members were probably reeling at seeing Arthur and Eames after waking. First they had been informed that their rescue mission had not only been unwanted, but debilitating to the two of them. Then, before they could even comprehend that, they had seen Arthur and Eames take solace from their heartbreak in one another’s embrace, their tears mingling. Last time they had seen Arthur and Eames together, they had been teasing and bickering and the bane of the other’s existence.

 

He realized he couldn’t care less what the others thought of them in that moment because they didn’t know what they had been through. Dom and Ariadne hadn’t gotten together, and Ariadne wasn’t pregnant. Yusuf had never been to any Chemist conventions, and may not even know those existed. Hell, they had been in Limbo – maybe they _didn’t_ exist in reality. Arthur began to feel his head spinning as he tried to wrap his head around being thrust unwillingly into a different reality.

 

When they finally fell into Arthur’s room they didn’t know what to do with themselves. The numbness had clearly overtaken Eames’s mind as well, and for a moment they just held hands in the front entryway. Not knowing what else to do, they fell back into their normal routine, taking comfort in the familiarity. They both showered and brushed their teeth of the fading taste of vomit and then fell into bed even though it was only early afternoon. They knew their bodies were probably hungry but they didn’t feel it, still too sick with heartbreak to handle the idea of food.

 

Eames lay on his back on the mattress and pulled Arthur down on top of him. They kissed slowly at first, hesitant. But when their lips began to move in their old familiar dance, proving that they both really had been down in Limbo together, their kiss grew frantic. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, even though there was an unspeakable wave of love coursing through both of their bodies; it was a kiss of raw desperation.

 

It didn’t last long, but it finally brought them some sense of composure. Their faces and bodies were a wreck but their fingers traced over familiar dips and curves of skin like a cherished possession, like a well-traveled road map. Their bodies seemed too exhausted to produce any more tears until Eames rolled them over and slid down Arthur’s body slowly, movements stiff with dread. Eames pushed Arthur’s shirt up to expose his flat, lifeless stomach, and kissed him there, his lips tracing over memorized inches of skin that used to possess stretch marks. Arthur had always hated those stretch marks after having Sophia, but now he missed them terribly.

 

They were both crying again as Eames placed one more kiss just below Arthur’s navel and then rested his head on Arthur’s stomach, his ear against his skin. Arthur felt Eames’s arms wind around him to hold him close and they both lay like that for hours, mourning the loss of their daughter. The sun set, unnoticed, as time inevitably wore on.

 

#

 

They only realized they had fallen asleep when the pale dawn light spilt across their bodies the next morning. They were both shivering, chilled from the room’s air conditioning since they had fallen asleep on top of the sheets, and from worn out exhaustion. Eames pulled away with a groan just long enough to pull the duvet over both of their bodies and curl up against Arthur’s side again, his nose brushing Arthur’s neck.

 

“I was hoping it was a nightmare,” Arthur mumbled tiredly.

 

Eames pressed a comforting kiss to his shoulder. “Me too.”

 

“What do we do now?” Arthur spoke the question aloud, though he didn’t know who could possibly know the answer.

 

“I don’t know,” Eames admitted weakly, holding Arthur a little tighter.

 

Arthur tried to force himself into the mindset of the Point Man, though it felt like stepping into a suit that no longer fit comfortably. “We could…” he swallowed, possibilities rushing through his head but none of them seeming particularly appealing. “We could stay here in reality. We can get married again, find a house…adopt…”

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Eames pleaded hoarsely, a few hot tears falling on Arthur’s skin again. It was true. They could get married again and could find another house that suited them. But the mere thought of adopting a child after losing Sophia had Arthur nauseous again. He knew orphans needed a home, but he and Eames were too broken to bring someone else into their family. Bitterness and pain would plague them every time they looked at a new child that had taken Sophia’s place. A child who had not been borne of their bodies, of their love.

 

“I know,” was all Arthur could think to say to let Eames know that Arthur couldn’t bear the thought either.

 

“I can’t, Arthur,” Eames shook his head wearily, hair tickling Arthur’s skin. “I can’t replace Sophia. And even though I still love you, I fear our loss will poison our love.”

 

“You can’t leave me,” Arthur choked out hurriedly, his throat constricting until he could barely breathe.

 

“I couldn’t leave you if I tried, love,” Eames leaned up and kissed the corner of Arthur’s quivering lips. “And I would never try. But I am still fearful.”

 

Their lips pressed together but there was no movement. Just a mechanical movement for relief. A shot of morphine. A popped pill. “We could…” Arthur began and then trailed off, glancing away to watch the cityscape become bathed in a pink glow that somehow looked cold and uninviting.

 

“What?” Eames prompted him, resting fully on his elbows to hold Arthur’s gaze. “We could do what?”

 

“We could go back,” Arthur spoke the words with a tremor of terror and anticipation rushing through him. A part of him said that he was being weak. Another, stronger part of him didn’t care.

 

They knew they were being selfish, giving up on reality to indulge in their fantasies. But who was anyone else to say what reality they had to choose, what life they were supposed to live? Their team members would continue on; they had each other. And they were not leaving any other friends or family behind. “I think Yusuf would give us the chemicals,” Eames offered nervously, both of them remembering the group who came to ‘wake up’ in Yusuf’s basement.

 

“We could use our money to set up in a private hospital,” Arthur added, their voices growing stronger now that they had some hope to grasp onto. “And determine a time to have the life support turned off.” They were breaching so many ethical issues in that one conversation, but neither of them blinked an eye. To them it was a means to an end, their method to get home and spend their lives together.

 

“You’re sure?” Eames questioned seriously, both of them still wound around each other, staying close.

 

“Of this more than anything else,” Arthur nodded, brushing his fingers through Eames’s hair.

 

“Me too,” Eames agreed solidly, his eyes strong.

 

They blinked at each other in silence for a few long minutes. Then their lips pressed together, passionate this time.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

#

 

Arthur stepped up to the house first, pulling his keys from his pocket automatically. He slotted the key into the lock and turned the doorknob, smiling when he felt Eames’s hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder. He pushed the door open and stepped into their living room, taking a deep breath of the familiar scent of their preferred house cleaners. Eames stepped in behind him and pushed the door closed, glancing around looking slightly dazed.

 

Their fingers laced together between them, both of them barely believing their eyes. As they looked around their house, filled with fond memories and photographs, their short time in the waking world began to fade. It felt like a bad dream, something that chilled you to the bone but, when you returned back safe, made you truly appreciate what could have been lost.

 

They moved to the den and picked up the other’s totem, not wanting to feel the sharp clarity that their own totem would force upon them. They wandered out into the back garden where Arthur had decided to attempt planting a few vegetables in his free time. They dug a deep hole, dropped the red die and poker chip into it, and then packed the dirt back into place.

 

Eames leaned over and kissed Arthur sweetly, affectionately, and then led him back into the house. Just as the door fell closed again they heard quick feet thumping down the stairs. Their hands clenched tightly around the other, eager anticipation filling them. Then Sophia walked hurriedly into the living room, nearly tripping with her pace. She stopped when she saw the two of them and a confused frown took over her face. “You gone.”

 

“We were gone,” Arthur corrected as he stepped forward, pulling Sophia carefully into his arms. “But we’re back now.”

 

“And we’re never leaving you again,” Eames promised, crossing the room to stand beside them.

 

Arthur eyes were full of tears when he kissed Sophia on the forehead, holding her close to his chest. The tears finally fell when Sophia smiled and gripped Arthur’s shoulder and reached back to wrap her other small hand around Eames’s fingers. Arthur met Eames’s eyes and saw that the other man was crying as well. They closed the small space between them and shared a relieved, joyful kiss. Eames wrapped his free arm around Arthur’s waist so that Sophia was cradled warmly between their two bodies.

 

Then he began to hum their lullaby.

 

They were home.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have a feeling this is going to be one of those "love it" or "hate it" stories, but either way I appreciate hearing your thoughts :)
> 
> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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